Kristallnacht
by Chiblets
Summary: It's the night of November 9th, 1938. Italy disagrees with the discrimination of Germany's Jewish people, and he can't understand why his friend allows it.


Kristallnacht

It was the night of November 9th, 1938, when the tragedy swept the nation. The massive ostracism and intolerance of the Jewish communities had rapidly infected neighboring countries such as Austria –who by this time had become part of Germany- , Czechoslovakia, Lithuania, and even recently invaded Poland was influenced by the immoral Nazi ideals that discriminated against the Jew.

However, this treacherous night involved none of these swayed nations. It focused completely on Nazi Germany.

The night sky turned day with the flames of those one hundred and ninety-one sacred houses of Jewish worship desecrated by the cruel sadism of the Nazi Stormtroops. Hellish, hungry flames licked and devoured what they could of the holy structures, ascending higher and higher towards the sky as if to mock and defile the Heaven above with their devilish touch. Members of the Jewish communities could only stand by and watch, mortified and traumatized, as their sanctuaries were burned to the ground.

Their plight was only to worsen, for the Stormtroops did not cease at the burning.

What synagogues could not be set aflame, the Nazis demolished as thoroughly as possible with axes or hammers. Windows were shattered and support beams were smashed, sending the structures collapsing to the ground. By the time the Stormtroops stood back to admire their just work, the synagogues were no more; they had been reduced to nothing but piles of splintering wood, crumbling stone, and shards of gleaming broken glass. Families wept from behind the curtains of their homes, hardly able to protest to the cruelty they were witnessing unless they wished death upon themselves. Where the Jew mourned, the Stormtroops laughed.

And all he did was observe. Germany, with his light blonde hair slicked back and piercing blue eyes narrowed, stood behind the scene and oversaw the actions of his leader's army with apparent indifference. There was no stopping the chaos; it had already spread too far to be put to an end. He figured all that could be done was to allow the fire to burn out of the buildings and hearts of the Nazi Stormtroops.

Germany's Italian companion felt differently on the matter. Italy had not fallen to the anti-Semitic views his friend had so readily adopted, so he was extremely taken aback by the awful display before him. His golden eyes were open wide to the horrific on goings. In all his years he'd never seen such mass-produced hatred, and Feliciano desperately wished he could erase it away from his mind. The Italian visibly shook as a group Stormtroops marched into a nearby graveyard, taking their scorn for the Jews to the tombstones and graves. He gasped, lifting a hand to his mouth, and struggled to hold back a cry when the Nazi men took their hammers to the Jewish gravestones. Various stones exploded into uneven fragments and littered the yellowish grass around them, the insane cackles of the German soldiers following; a ghostly chill descended Italy's spine at the sound. It was wrong. All of it was so very, _very _wrong. People shouldn't act like this. Feliciano didn't want to believe that humans could be so evil, but here was the evidence right before his eyes. Still, he didn't want to bring himself to connect the human soldiers with such evil being created. He didn't want to believe that Germany was capable of supporting these actions.

"G-Germany…this isn't right," the Italian whispered, on the verge of tears. "You have to do something, ve!"

Italy looked hopefully to the other nation, but his hope was shattered upon registering the stone-faced expression of Ludwig. Feliciano frowned, biting his quivering bottom lip harshly to keep in his whimpers. He wanted to do something to help these unfortunate people, but Italy knew that it was not his place to meddle in the affairs of his friend's country. But damn, he had to do something. Even if he only persuaded his friend to cease this madness, at least he would have done something.

His gentle-hearted nature watched on in horror as a small family was dragged out of the comfort of their home. The two children wailed as their father was openly humiliated in the streets; the wife was in no better shape, doing her very best to console the frantic youngsters as she herself shed tears for the head of the family. The man held his head high, unashamed of his Jewish heritage, and cast a longing look to his wife and children. A small, reassuring smile lit up his features as he was dragged away from them by two Stormtroops.

The youngest child screamed out for his father, crying and breaking away from his mother's firm grip to chase down the Nazi soldiers. The child's mother pleaded desperately in German for her son to return to her, but the boy was determined to reason with these Stormtroops. Italy could hardly watch as the boy tugged on the sleeve of one of the troops, begging for his father's release. Said troop turned slightly, face contorted in an expression of utter disgust, and lifted his rifle, striking the child on the forehead with the end. The little boy collapsed and Italy could not stop himself from rushing forward to help the boy, despite Germany's protests.

"Hey! Hey!" the Italian called to the fallen child, kneeling in the dirt next to him. "You need to get up. It's not safe out here."

Italy frowned as the boy responded with nothing but a low whine. Feliciano reached out and gently pushed the child's bangs out of his face, cringing at the mark placed upon it by the butt of the troop's rifle. Holding back his tears, the Italian scooped the young boy into his arms and cradled the boy against his chest. He hadn't been aware that even children were being mistreated in this mass-discrimination. What person could hurt an innocent child? There had to be some terrible evil at play for this to happen. No matter what misdeeds were being carried out across Europe, Feliciano couldn't imagine ever hurting a child. It was against his morals.

Feliciano's tears could no longer be contained. The Italian couldn't understand such hate, being someone who preferred to study the good and light in everything. But when he was surrounded by so much darkness and so much despair, it was difficult for him to place anything good in his friend's country.

"V-vati…?" a small voice spoke softly from his arms. Feliciano gazed down at the boy, tears dripping onto the tiny face staring up at him, and recognized the German term for father.

"Nein," Italy responded in the little German he knew, placing a soft kiss on the young one's bruised forehead. "I'm so sorry…this shouldn't be happening."

The tiny Jewish boy frowned, brown eyes filling with tears of his own. Italy frowned and shushed the upset child, hating to see any child cry. He didn't believe that a kid should have to bear the weight of such a tragedy as this.

The Italian rose to his feet and allowed his sorrow to show as he marched back to the mother of the boy in his arms. She rushed forward to meet him, dragging her daughter along with her, and took her child from him. Her distraught, dark gaze met his as she frantically spoke to him in the language he only knew the basis of. Italy shook his head and made a gesture of confusion. Chocolate eyes lit up with understanding. The mother managed a small smile at the Italian and bowed her head in thanks before turning to her home that had by this time been ravaged by other soldiers. Feliciano watched the three trudge back to the ransacked home with an overwhelming sadness. How could such a civilized country turn barbaric in such a short span of time?

"Italy," Germany growled, harshly grabbing the Italian by the forearm, and dragged the brunette away from the violence within the community. "Do not meddle. It's not your business."

"You know this isn't right, Germany…" Italy protested, his rare serious demeanor revealing itself. "That kind of behavior is ridiculous! You can't just allow those troops to continue this! Those are your people they're hurting!"

The German stopped and rounded on Italy, striking Feliciano across the face. The Italian recoiled and stared at his friend in absolute shock, noting with distress the rancor burning in Ludwig's gaze. Hot tears slithered down Italy's face as he lifted a hand to gently touch the stinging portion of his cheek where his friend had struck him. Despite the embarrassment this made him feel, Feliciano continued to hold the German's gaze bravely.

"T-they're your people…those Jews suffering out there…" the Italian cursed himself for stuttering. "How can you be so indifferent…?"

"Nein," Germany quickly responded, clenching his fists at his sides. "Those Jewish swine are not my people."

A small gasp escaped Feliciano's lips at the statement. Slowly, he lowered his hand from his still stinging cheek and gaped at Ludwig. "G-Germany…how can you say that…?"

Germany scowled and turned away from Italy, but not before the Italian caught the teardrops confined in the corners of his companion's blue eyes. Italy frowned. Germany never cried. He was supposed to be strong, like an iron wall. Feliciano realized, with a start, that it was possible Ludwig wasn't as apathetic to this torturing of his people as he appeared. Italy moved to stand next to the German and cautiously rested a hand on the blonde's shoulder, shedding tears for the friend who was much too proud to cry for himself.

"W-why…? Just please, tell me why, Germany," Feliciano pleaded, his voice soft and cracked from crying.

Germany closed his pale blue eyes and sighed heavily. "Mein Führer commands it. There is nothing I can do."

Leaving it at that, Italy once more swept his gaze across one of the many ravaged Jewish communities. Jewish citizens were being lined up and publicly degraded for horrified German spectators to witness. Shops and homes were being broken into and destroyed. Everything in a single night had gone to hell. Many Jews suffered on that disastrous night, both physically and emotionally, as the Nazi Stormtroops made their hatred clear. The shattered glass from the synagogues glittered ironically beautifully in the light of the hellfire still burning, as if to instill some hope in the oppressed Jewish people.

This night of November 9th, 1938, came to be mockingly known as Kristallnacht, the night of broken glass.


End file.
